“Darn. That’s the address we have. Did she happen to leave an emergency contact?”
Cara scanned the paperwork and said, “Yes, she listed Amy Striker. The phone number is 555-2711 and the address is the same.”
“Thank you, Cara. You’ve been very helpful.”
“Thank you, Deputy,” she said, eyeing him. “I hope you solve your case.”
Katie and McGaven turned to leave and that’s when she saw the two little girls sitting side by side, each with a book. They had slightly different hair styles, but they were twins. It suddenly hit her. Katie touched McGaven’s arm before they exited the dental office. “Twins,” she said. “What if Candace Harlan has a twin?”
He shrugged. “I guess it’s possible. But how?”
“Don’t you see? That’s why the victim looks so much like Candace. Ask the receptionist if there is another patient, a family member by the name of Harlan. I know it’s a long shot, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. A doppelganger, a twin, maybe a cousin, but I think the victim might be related to her.”
Katie went outside and waited for McGaven. She paced the pavement, running everything through her mind. It was a long shot, but a sister, or a twin, was a possibility, even if there was no mention at Elm Hill Mansion about a sibling.
McGaven exited and said, “You’re right, Katie. I’ll give you kudos for this. Cara said that Candace’s sister, Carol Harlan, was also a patient, and they usually had appointments on the same day. There was an outdated contact number as well. Probably a fake one to begin with.”
“There was no indication from her file that she had a sister.”
“Maybe she didn’t know she had a sister until after she left Elm Hill?”
“Maybe they were separated when they were babies? And reunited?” she said, thinking about all the possible reasons. “Okay, let Dr. Dean at the examiner’s office know that he needs to compare the dental records of Carol Harlan.”
“On it,” he said, retrieving his cell phone. “I’ll run the system for everything on Carol Harlan as well.”
Walking up to the car, she said, “We also have an address now, 1457 Green Street.”
“That’s in the Parker Division,” he said, looking at his phone. “Looks like the Edison something company is the one doing the construction project. I’ll know when I get in front of my computer.”
“Maybe we’ll find Candace Harlan now,” she said.
Ten
The beginning of third grade was an exciting time for me—being eight years old was a new adventure. I would soon be beginning more academically challenging work—feeling like a real student instead of a child idly entertained by a teacher among a classroom of idiot children. My days were filled with the wonder of learning.
English.
Math.
And learning history made me the most content.
I was the happiest when I was away from home. It was the opposite for most kids, but not me. Not in the least. I imagined flying away to a better place—a magical place.
My home was a nightmare that had transcended into my waking life—every single day I stepped into the lion’s den praying that I would be okay—and not eaten alive. It didn’t matter what had happened that day—how fun it was, how good it was, how happy I was—as soon as I walked through the front door of my house, everything changed in an instant.
As I jogged up to the front porch with a heavy backpack slung over my right shoulder, dread always filled me. I glanced up at the outside light where the light bulb had been smashed and not replaced. Tiny remnants of the bulb still evident around the step corners were a constant reminder. The filthy step and worn-out doormat were the only things that greeted me.
The joy of school and all the new things I had learned faded away, replaced suddenly by deep despair and unwavering darkness.
My small hand gripped the front doorknob hoping it would open this time. I slowly turned it, and to my surprise it was unlocked. It was never unlocked. Ever. Gulping for air, I slowly pushed the door inward, but it jammed, only opening two inches. Something wouldn’t allow for it to open any farther. I could barely breathe. I pushed harder with all my strength, but it still wouldn’t budge.
I knew why.
Eleven
Tuesday 1345 hours
Katie and McGaven took turns driving. Katie often liked to ride quietly in the passenger seat reflecting on new information and clues they had gathered. Katie knew McGaven’s moods as he no doubt understood hers.
Today, however, she wanted to feel the steering wheel gripped beneath her fingers. The strength of the V8 engine roaring under the hood, catapulting them towards their next lead and keeping her focused. The case was complex and she knew that they would need to peel away the evidence one layer at a time.
Katie’s hands shook slightly in anticipation, as she took the appropriate exit from the freeway and slowed the car’s speed to take the uneven roads leading up to the Parker Division.
“What’s with the roads here?” she asked, breaking the silence.
“It’s been like this for a while. I’m assuming they will re-pave them when the development is finished.”
“Hmm,” she said, watching for areas where she could pull the sedan in and park.
Parker Division was made up of six roads from north to south intersected by three roads going east and west. Most homes still had dirt front yards as well as some final finishing touches on the porches and frames around the windows yet to do. But there were others still entombed with heavy plastic, unfinished and exposed.
Katie kept driving and found an open area that hadn’t been surrounded by temporary cyclone fencing. She eased the sedan down the street.
“So where’s 1457 Green Street?” asked Katie. She slowed the vehicle even more, scouring the area. “Seems strange here with all these empty houses and no one actually working. Like a ghost town.”
McGaven craned his neck, searching too. “Did they take the day off?”
“Shouldn’t we see work trucks from Edison, et al?”
“Wait,” said McGaven and pointed. “What’s that?”
There were three construction trucks parked in front of two unfinished homes that were being framed in. Stenciled on the doors was EFT & Company, Construction & Development, referring to Edison, Fullerton, and Taylor Demolition Company.
“There’s Green Street,” she said, making a right turn and stopping when they came to 1457. The address had been spray painted on the curb. “Doesn’t look like anyone is living there. No one is living in any of these houses yet. Why would Candace Harlan use this address? She couldn’t have pulled it out of thin air.”
“Not likely.”
Katie parked. “Let’s go look at a house,” she said flatly as her nerves buzzed at a low level in her arms. She didn’t like being in an unknown area without knowing exactly what to expect—she was glad that McGaven was with her.
Opening the car door, “Okay…”
Both of them stepped out onto the street and did a slow inspection of the neighborhood.
Katie shut her eyes for a moment to let her other senses check for anything out of place. It was a trick that she had honed in the army. There was no birdsong, which seemed strange. The subtle breeze rattled the heavy plastic covering the windows on the house across the street. Opening her eyes and looking down, she noticed that the street was exceptionally clean without so much as a piece of paper or leaf out of place—nothing blew along the ground.
“It is 1457?” asked McGaven with a hint of skepticism to his voice.
“Yep.”
“Just double checking,” he said, filling the tense silence with chitchat which wasn’t customary for him.
“This is the address. Let’s check it out.”
“I’ll take a loop around the perimeter.”
Katie nodded and headed toward the front door.
Walking across the landscaped yard, she felt her boot heels sink slightly into the typical dirt/sand combin
ation of California soil. The windows and doors had been recently installed. The trim was freshly painted white to contrast the dark blue of the house. The smell of paint charged her senses as she stepped up to the front door painted red with a small window at the top. She stretched her body and stood on her tiptoes to see inside. It was empty, and there were missing appliances in the kitchen. There was no sign of anyone living there—ever.
She walked around to the large living-room window and peered inside. It was empty but the carpet had been installed recently—there were still company-branded stickers at the corners. Random pieces of garbage were scattered all over the floor. It was clear that the final clean-up hadn’t been done. This was a brand-new house and was almost ready for its first residents—no doubt about it.
Katie heard footsteps coming along behind the house. They were too quick and light to belong to McGaven. She hurried around the corner to find a man dressed in a dark hoodie and dark pants walking her way. His face was obscured by the sweatshirt hood pulled tight and he stopped dead when he saw Katie, then turned and sprinted away.
“Wait!” she said, breaking into a sprint after him. “Wait! Sheriff’s department! Stop!”
The faster she ran, the more he increased his speed. As Katie pursued, she couldn’t help but think that she had seen this person before.
But where?
Katie pumped her arms faster, wishing she was in her running shoes.
That’s it!
When they had been at Elm Hill Mansion, she had paused a moment before entering the crime-scene area and glanced at the group of onlookers. She was sure that there had been a person matching the general build and dress of the guy she was now chasing.
Her heart pounded with effort and adrenalin as she chased the man around two houses and through a backyard. Jumping over some leftover pieces of drywall and empty paint buckets, she had to use all of her running endurance to keep up.
Katie kept her pace with the fleeing sprinter, but she wasn’t gaining on him. Then he ducked behind a house, pushing over a pile of supplies stacked high in the front yard and causing her to slow to avoid an ambush. Crouching down and pulling her weapon, she approached the six-foot-high pile of scaffolding boards with caution, directing her gun in front of her. Inching to the corner, she peered around to the other side.
No one was there.
After a few tense seconds, she inched around to the other side.
It was deserted as well.
Relaxing her arms slightly, she lowered her weapon. Second-guessing herself, she thought maybe she had been chasing a teenager instead of someone that had been at the crime scene.
Then a dark blur darted out nearby and headed out toward the road again.
Katie bolted, running as fast as she could and jumping every obstacle in her path, weaving around discarded drywall, two-by-fours, and dozens of buckets of paint like she was being chased by wolves.
Catching sight of him again, she slowed her pace, realizing as she looked around that she was traveling in circles. Was he trying to direct her somewhere? But why? And where? She regretted not alerting McGaven to her chase and wished that she had Cisco with her to track him. It would have been more efficient, and safer to have the dog by her side.
She heard a crash nearby. The noise rattled her nerves, making her grit her teeth. With her heartbeat pounding in her ears, she pushed herself harder, running towards the noise. Just as she was about to turn a corner by one of the freshly painted houses, she almost collided with a burly man carrying tools and a large bucket.
Katie stopped abruptly, barely missing him.
“Hey, lady, what are you doing?” said the man with an angry tone. “Why are you here?” he demanded, noticing the Glock 19 she held lowered in her right hand.
“Detective Scott, Pine Valley Sheriff’s Department,” she said, winded and a little bit unnerved at the sound of her own voice. “Did you see a guy come through here wearing dark sweats and a hoodie?”
“Nah, no one here like that,” he gruffly answered. “Even you shouldn’t be here—officer.” His gravelly voice turned sarcastic with an emphasis on officer and she couldn’t help but see that he didn’t want her anywhere near the construction in progress.
Katie glared at the worker. “And you are?”
He smirked and slowly drew out his answer. “I don’t have to tell you nuthin’.”
“That’s right,” Katie fired back. She could smell his sweat and pungent deodorant mixed together like a stink cocktail. “You don’t have to say anything to me, but I can get a patrol car here in five minutes and they will take you in…”
“Oh yeah. For what?” He leered at her and gave her a once-over.
“How about for obstruction? Evading a police officer. Or, how about I take a look at your permits?” She stood her ground, not really going to do any of those things, but the stocky man didn’t know that.
Katie remained quiet. It was a useful technique that worked most of the time when she wanted someone to be helpful or honest with her.
“Is there a problem, Detective Scott?” said McGaven calmly from behind her.
“I’m going to ask you again. Did you see someone wearing a dark tracksuit with the hood pulled up?” she said, hoping that being outnumbered would make the man more talkative.
“No, not today,” he said slowly.
“What do you mean ‘not today’?”
“We’ve had some problems with stealing. Probably kids. Tools have gone missing. Things have been moved around.”
“What kind of tools?”
“One of our tool boxes was pried open and some of the hand tools were taken. Small stuff like screwdrivers, hammers, stuff like that. None of the expensive power tools were touched.”
Katie thought about it. Maybe he was right, it was kids. “What’s your name?”
“Carl.”
“Carl what?”
“Carl Brown.”
“You work for Edison?” she said.
“Yeah.”
“So what’s the timeline here?”
“For what?”
“To finish these houses.”
“By next month.”
“To put them on the market?”
“No.”
“No?” she said.
“They’ve already been sold.”
“We did a check on a house on Green Street. It doesn’t show that it has been sold.”
Brown shrugged. “That’s what they told us.”
“Have you ever heard of Magnum Development? MDI?”
Shaking his head, he said, “No.”
Katie decided to use a bit of charm and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Brown, for coming down hard on you. But, I have one more question,” as she holstered her weapon.
“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugged. “I guess.”
“Do you know who either Candace Harlan or Amy Striker are?”
“No, should I?”
“Have you ever heard the name Harlan?”
“Like I said, nope.”
Katie watched his reaction and it appeared to be genuine. No hesitation. No averting of the eyes.
“If there’s anything out of the ordinary, can you call me?” She gave him her business card.
“Sure,” he replied, reading the card.
“Thank you.” Katie turned and faced McGaven before carefully stepping around the area. He had been waiting patiently in the background, like a bodyguard, keeping quiet until needed.
“What’s going on? Why did you bolt?” he asked.
“I saw this guy following us and when I tried to talk to him, he ran.”
“What did he look like?”
“I couldn’t really tell. He had a black hoodie obscuring his face. And he was really, really fast on foot.”
They walked back toward the house on Green Street.
“Anything about him seem familiar?”
“Yeah, I think he was at the crime scene.”
“Maybe a fan of the police?�
�
Katie said slowly, “Maybe, but I think he was after something else. Or knows something that we don’t know about the case.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Find anything interesting about the house?”
“Nada. It’s just like the rest of the places. The crew is finishing up the interiors and soon people will begin moving in.”
They reached the car and paused.
“Mr. Big Guy back there said that all the houses have been sold.”
“Really?”
Katie opened the car door. “So if they have been sold, why can’t we find anything?”
“You know how slow these things work. Maybe all the information hasn’t been entered into the system at the title company and assessor’s office.” McGaven studied his partner. “What? You’ve got that look. I don’t know whether to be happy or brace for the worst.”
Katie smiled. “Well, I know that property taxes wait for no one. There’s must be a record somewhere.”
“I saw a real estate sign down the street for MayFare Realty. I’ll dig around there.”
“We need to find out why Candace Harlan and Amy Striker are somehow connected to this house on Green Street.”
Twelve
Tuesday 1530 hours
Katie leaned over McGaven’s shoulder as he ran through several police reports for Carol Harlan. To their surprise, there were numerous reports for vandalism and trespass, but nothing else popped.
“It looks like these charges were all dropped,” McGaven said.
“All those dates are from several years ago, nothing current,” Katie said, discouraged. Reading on, she said, “Actually, it looks like Carol was kicked out of places where she was sleeping. It makes sense that she was homeless.” Reading on, she said, “What about the contact information she gave?”
“It looks like 1477 Spring Street.”
“Why does that sound familiar?” she said.
“It’s because it’s the government building downtown. It’s common for inmates to use that address when they are transient.”
Last Girls Alive: A totally addictive crime thriller and mystery novel (Detective Katie Scott Book 4) Page 6
